To Break Free
by messymaelstrom
Summary: Medic's morphine addiction is getting out of hand. Can he ever be free from the demons of the past?
1. Beginnings

Anxiety and restlessness wracked his weary body since the first battle as an employee of Builder's League United ended mere hours ago. By a fortunate coincidence, none of his colleagues had suffered much damage in combat, permitting the German to rush almost carelessly through the checkup he had with each of them.

Medic was finally sitting alone in his office, a victorious feat considering how much effort he extended to discreetly convince Heavy, his last patient for the day, to leave. Basking in the solitude made it nearly impossible to keep from focusing on the mental maelstrom in his mind.

The battle they had with RED earlier that day certainly fit the description he was given during his interview; there were no surprises in that. But Medic certainly wasn't expecting _this_. He never suspected the job would push him to crave morphine again. The moment the battle began was the instant Medic knew he would have a problem. When the bullets whizzed by and the terror started all over again, the hand of addiction clenched around his throat.

As he sat in his office's cushioned chair, he assessed his physiological problem, thoroughly analyzing the costs of easing his nerves with morphine. As he did, the German recalled from where the acquired taste of poison came. He would have never started the cycle with his own free will; the very first injection came from the Nazis when he had the displeasure of being chosen as a subject for one of their drug tolerance tests.

They started the cycle, but for years afterward, he could not end it. As the addiction spiraled onward, his medical license was revoked when he was caught stealing morphine from his employer.

Medic's lips formed into a frown as he considered his situation. There was no part of him that desired to be a slave to morphine again; he figured that Demoman had taken up the addict role rather nicely already; BLU certainly had enough trouble dealing with him alone.

Then came the troubling matter of his sanity; the Doctor doubted his abilities to be efficient on the battlefield when the sound of a single bullet was enough to propel him twenty years into the past. If the first moment of a battle was enough to bring about withdrawal symptoms and cravings, it was impossible to say he could perform to his full capacity. A subpar performance on the battlefield was simply unacceptable.

Medic rose to his feet with a hefty sigh. He made his way to the medicine cabinet in the infirmary and removed a bottle of morphine from a painstakingly organized shelf. The simple act of holding the substance in his hand melted away his anxiety. Did it really have that much control over him? Fighting this would be more difficult than he anticipated.

Another long sigh escaped the doctor's lips as he replaced the vial in the cabinet and shut the doors with a decisive slam. "I will not let you take me." Determination filled his voice as he assured himself, "I'm better than this." He would not be consumed by the perverse desire to abuse again.

Clearly, the temptation was too much in the infirmary. He was tremendously irritated to surrender his well-deserved solitude, but he needed to get away from the abundance of morphine. Surely someone in the base would enjoy his company. His eyes lingered only for a moment at the cabinet where the drug was tucked away. Medic blinked hard and readjusted his glasses on his nose; his feet carried him out of the infirmary.

Medic couldn't sleep that night; a mind full of thoughts forced him into a spell of insomnia. In the delusion of sleeplessness, he hadn't noticed the extent to which his thoughts focused on the sirenic welcome of morphine. An abrupt and violent crash of thunder interrupted every one of his thoughts; he cringed involuntarily at the noise; it was unnervingly close to the sounds of bombs he heard throughout the second Great War. An instant later, his body began to shake as he relived the terrors he endured in the past; anxiety and adrenaline rampaged through his veins.

The German could feel terror coursing through his body as his mind ignored every calming word he offered to himself. Within moments, the shreds of rationality slipped through his fingers, leaving his volatile mind to relive the misery of the past. Ransacked by agony, his mind failed to notice that he was on his feet now, making his way to the infirmary; his body seeking out the one thing it knew would soothe his nerves again.

His hand immediately reached for the drug he discarded mere hours ago. All he needed was a minute dose; just a small amount to ease his nerves. In little time, he prepared a syringe with morphine, poised and ready to be delivered into the main artery of his arm.

Another powerful clash of thunder made Medic jump, the needle jabbed carelessly at the space just above his forearm. His eyes widened another degree in panic; the noise sent all those horrible memories pouring into his skull. The thousand yard stare that overtook his eyes spoke of the suffering he had seen at the hands of the Nazis, the lives lost in his arms when his hands could not work fast enough to heal his comrades' wounds. A maelstrom of horrific memories flooded into him at once, sweat caught on his brow in the paralysis it bestowed upon him.

It took several moments, but his body began to move again, out of its own memory. Its memory knew the movements that would bring comfort. His eyes gazed upon their operation, only fractionally aware of what his hands were actually doing. Before long the syringe was realigned with the main artery of his arm, and without a second thought, the needle plunged into his flesh, and another finger followed to deliver the drug to his system.

The syringe was discarded methodically once he was done. After a moment of sitting and placing pressure on the injection site, he rose to his feet and found his bed again, heaving his exhausted figure onto it.

A small serene smile crept across Medic's lips as the morphine eased his nerves. Mindless tranquility smoothed away the ridges of rough emotion; the anxiety, terror, memories all began to fade, leaving him in a dreamy state. His muscles relaxed into the mattress; in little time he was asleep, far away from the crime he committed against himself.

In less than ten minutes, he erased twenty years of sobriety.

Medic wouldn't realize what had occurred in his stupor until the next day, when he would see the bruise left behind by a careless injection. Within days, his determination to continue fighting against the morphine cravings would collapse under the daily pressures of combat, when he would come to realize that morphine was the only thing that made the event tolerable.


	2. Discovery

[Author's note: I'm not changing words to suit accents because I find it tremendously distracting. This is a new edit, fixed quite a few minor things.]

Discovery

Medic was completely alone in his daily routine of self-destruction; he often wondered how it managed to escape the others' notice. Weeks settled into a simple routine: vicious battles, morphine, interactions with colleagues, and lies. The passing of months accompanied a strange acceptance of the violent and destructive routine.

The lies were what bothered Medic the most; every one fell like bitter poison from his lips, piling up around his feet. He knew that eventually, he would trap himself within their walls. Surely, his teammates had their suspicions; his demeanor changed often, and they must have noticed his aversion to showing bare skin. It was a blessing that they never asked questions.

His pre-battle routine included a dose of morphine to make the job tolerable; it was enough to ease his mind as the bullets hissed past and death's frequency greeted him like a familiar friend. The German knew: without the dose of morphine beforehand, the daily brawl would leave in him in shambles, be it from wounds or the demons of the past. He was convinced morphine would be the only thing that could ever make his job tolerable.

The after battle examinations were difficult to stomach. Medic adopted an elaborate lie to keep his ugly addiction hidden. Eventually, the topic of his medical license – and lack thereof – came up. To avoid the truth, he adopted a far-fetched fable to explain why the state revoked it. With the lie came a falsified personality; a mask he wore to keep the guilt away. Under the veil, he was a doctor who held no regard to his patients' safety or comfort; he was a sadistic fool who bathed in the pain of others. Maintaining the façade took tremendous energy; but he could not convince himself to let it go.

If he took off the mask, his team would know. They would see the guilt consume him relentlessly throughout any surgery he had to perform. Medic wanted nothing more than to keep his patients calm and painless, especially after the procedures when the soothing rays of the medigun were no longer available for comfort. Sparing just one dose of morphine for one of their recoveries could mean days with crippling withdrawal symptoms. The doctor never wanted to admit to any of his colleagues that he lost his medical license for the very same reason he withheld morphine from them.

The rest of the team knew he was hoarding the morphine from them; but they attributed it to the lie he personified. They earnestly believed he refused to give any out only because he wanted to watch them suffer. Their assumption alone broke Medic's spirit. He might no longer a professional, but he still had standards. Nevertheless, he was grateful; they never suspected him of using it for himself.

When the checkups were complete, the inescapable need for morphine would emerge famished, bringing with it unbearable punishment to his flesh. Medic always fulfilled it with the second and largest of his daily doses. It kept the guilt and night terrors from overwhelming him, and eased every ounce of after-battle tension in his body.

Once, Heavy caught him with syringe in hand, and the lies came too naturally. "Mein friend," he had said, the bitter words were laced with poisonous lies, "I'm just testing a new formula for the Medigun. I thought I'd make it easier on the rest of you by playing the lab rat this time."

Somehow, he trusted him, had taken his word as irrefutable truth. He asked about the experimentation for weeks following the encounter. Heavy trusted easily.

He knew it would not be so easy to lie his way out of the situation next time. The doctor was careful to ensure there was no next time.

So the routine pressed on unabated, with the addiction slowly spiraling out of control.

There was one night - after many months of abusing the drug - Medic awoke to find himself in the respawn room after what had been only a minute addition to his regular dose of morphine.

He lay alone on the cold floor of respawn for what felt like eternity, staring blankly at a blinking red light, the pulsing metronome of the respawn system. The only other light in the room crept in from underneath the heavy door that led to the rest of the base. It was ironic; without the steady pulse of just one machine, his would have ceased. A sinking feeling swept over him upon the realization that his regular doses were on the verge of killing him. Taking less morphine meant more anxiety, but having the morphine wiped clean by respawn made that anxiety much more crippling. This incident had to be the only one.

With a sigh, Medic got to his feet, using the nearest wall for support. His head felt as though it would explode; he gingerly rubbed at his temples; the respawn system always left a massive headache upon waking. He carefully made his way to the door, threw it open, and squinted against the sudden bombardment of intense light. Under its influence, ferocious pain throbbed through his skull.

He continued to make his way to his bedroom once his eyes finally readjusted to the light. He had a vague idea of how much time he wasted in respawn; it was fortunate that no one had found him. Then again, no one would be awake this late at night to catch him in his mishap, especially with their battle tomorrow.

"Yo Doc, what's up? Ya forget somethin' in the resupply room too?" The voice brought him out of his stupor.

_Just my luck… _Medic stopped in his tracks and faced the Scout; he stared blankly at the youngest member of the team, his baffled expression displayed his surprise at seeing someone else still wandering at this hour. It just had to be the Scout; the others would surely know about whatever transpired here come morning. The boy could never keep his mouth shut.

Medic did not notice the silence until Scout broke it "Did somethin' happen to ya?" When the elder man continued to be quiet, he offered a reminder, "you're comin' from the direction a' respawn. We don't have a spy, do we? Those sneaky bastards are always up to no good, ya know I try to-"

Medic found his voice after a moment, and it came out with a tone of agitation, "Nein, Herr Scout, there is no Spy. One of mein experiments went wrong, nothing more."

The Bostonian stood there staring at the eldest member of the team for a moment, his mouth closed, offering the rareness of silence. Scout could hear the underlying fear in Medic's tone. "Ya alright? Ya don't sound so good. Wait ya were experimentin' on yerself? That ain't like ya, Doc. Ya sure _you_ ain't a spy?"

"I'm sure. Don't concern yourself with it, I'm fine. Accidents happen," the German stated with a stern tone. He turned and continued to walk back to his room. "gute Nacht, Herr Scout. I suggest you get some rest as well."

Scout stood in the hallway for a while, staring down the hallway into which Medic disappeared. He held his arms crossed over his chest as he thought aloud to himself. "Somethin' ain't right here. It ain't like the Doc to experiment on himself. Even if he had a change a' heart, he has more sense than to send himself to respawn for an experiment. He hates that dyin' shit. What's he up to? I bet someone knows 'bout it. And I bet it's Heavy who does." With the simple resolution to worry about it tomorrow, Scout pushed himself from the wall with a shrug and continued walking toward the respawn room. He made a beeline to his locker and began rummaging through his things. Eventually, he pulled out his favorite comic book. He told it, "Ya shouldn't run off on me like that." He ventured back to his room with a victorious grin.

"Verdammt…" Medic sighed with defeat as he laid his head on his pillow. He had a feeling it would be another sleepless night; especially now that respawn filtered the morphine from his system. He lay awake with his demanding thoughts.

_It just had to be the Scout…the one man who cannot keep a secret even if his life depended on it. I have no doubt that the others will know of this ordeal by the end of tomorrow. What if they become suspicious? Worse, if they find out about the morphine? The boy doesn't have much to talk about. All he did was find me fresh out of respawn, just acting unusual. There's no substantial conclusion that can be drawn from that. What am I worrying about?_

Throughout the next day, he expected at least one of his teammates to approach him to talk about what Scout had told them. It never happened; his anxiety about the situation only increased. If Scout stayed quiet, it was because he wanted to investigate the situation to find something substantial to say. A curious Scout was a terrible problem to have.

Medic plopped down in the comfortable chair at his desk in the infirmary. His weary bones were grateful for the rest after a long day of battle and post-war examinations. It was a rare moment that he found himself alone immediately after ending the day's exhausting routine, and he intended to make the most of the solitude while he could.

Like clockwork, his hands reached into the desk drawer to his right and pulled out the morphine supplies. The process was almost automatic now: tourniquet laced, syringe drawn, morphine at the right line, and injection. He told himself that it served only to help him unwind, nothing more; he could cut out this dose during the day. Of course, that was one of his thousands bitter lies. The sensation of the opiate flowing through his veins brought undeniable comfort. After securing his evidence back inside his desk drawer, he leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling, disappearing from the world as warmth drenched his aching body.

How long he sat like that, he did not know. The sound of soft knocking the infirmary door jolted him away from the bliss of solitude and a quiet mind. He quickly sat upright in his chair and his blue eyes met those of Heavy. They stayed trapped in place, staring blankly at one another amid thick silence. Medic could feel cold sweat creeping its way to the surface of his skin. If he looked nervous, it could give everything away; he forced his expression to remain calm.

"Did you…er…need something, Herr Heavy?" Medic asked and immediately hoped the rare formality attached to his friend's name did not provoke suspicion. His voice left with half the confidence he hoped it would hold. He was so nervous; did Heavy know? He never suspected anything before…but the man was smart, he would eventually put the pieces together… what if that was the reason for this visit? Just thinking about someone discovering his addiction made goosebumps appear on his skin; the air suddenly felt so cold on his skin- _Scheiße!_

He could only hope the collection of bruises on his forearms escaped his friend's notice as he rushed to pull down both of his sleeves. Medic looked nervously at the bigger man again, waiting for scolding, or at least a few questions. The Russian's expression was still unreadable. _What was that man thinking?_

"You are always so tense!" Heavy observed as a smile finally broke his stoic expression. "Is good to see you relax!" He approached his friend slowly, and placed his large hands on the German's shoulders. "Doktor works too hard."

Medic could not contain a sigh of relief, "Ja, I know. You tell me that often." He smiled and rested his head on the top of the chair's back, looking up at the Russian face that beamed back at him. What a magnificent smile that was.

"Is truth," he replied, "There is something I have wanted to talk to Doktor about. Many things, actually. This first thing is not important part. Scout asked me to talk to Doktor for him, because he is little coward. He asked if anyone knew what you did in evenings, then he says you came from respawn room very late last night. He worried that enemy spy got to you. Is Scout telling fables again?"

There was the question he had waited to hear all day; he panicked in its absence, and he panicked now that it was here. The smile melted off his face, "I'd say so. The boy has strange illusions when he has had too much of that Bonk. I was asleep all night."

"Is what I thought. But I figure I ask because Scout is big baby and can't talk to you on own." Medic's small smile returned to his face; the lies went over too easily. It was silly to think that he spent the day worried about the confrontation when it dissolved so easily. "So is Doktor planning on doing paperwork all night?"

"Most likely…As much as I hate doing it, I'd rather have everything filed away than have this wonderful avalanche of paper on my desk," he waved a hand half-heartedly over the mass of piles.

"Doktor can maybe take one night away from desk? Is just one. There is no battle tomorrow, maybe Doktor could have just a little fun?"

Medic chuckled, "I suppose I could skip out on it, just this once. So what do you suggest I do instead, then? You certainly act like you have something planned already." He reached up and poked his companion's nose playfully. "What is it?"

Heavy took the doctor's hand in his own, "is surprise."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Medic asked.

Heavy's mischievous smirk was the only answer as he began to rub the length of Medic's forearm. Medic felt his sleeve slip down, exposing a small portion of his skin; with the speed of a reflex, he withdrew his hand, yanked the sleeve back down. He was dismayed when he realized the tops of two bruises had been showing. Granted, it was only for a few seconds, but surely-

"Wait, what did Doktor do to arm?"

"Nothing," Medic said quickly, habitually pulling the cloth down further down his wrist. He rose to his feet and faced his friend. "It's nothing to be concerned about, really."

"Can I see?" Heavy asked.

"Nein!" Medic's voice held panic. "It isn't important, Heavy."

"Then why is Doktor so eager to hide it?" Heavy took the hand back into his grasp.

Before he could stop himself from doing otherwise, Medic gazed up at Heavy in fear. He knew the foundation which made the job tolerable was about to crumble. Did Heavy come here intending all along to investigate for Scout's sake? No…he wouldn't do that… would he? Medic stared vacantly at him as he considered the possibility that his friend betrayed him.

He fought against the hold, writhing uselessly as if the man's hand was sending jolts of electricity through his nerves. The struggle became more violent as he saw Heavy's other hand reaching for his sleeve; terror crept into his blue eyes. The wicked secret was about to be discovered, and he was helpless to cover it again. "Bitte, Heavy, don't look at it!" His voice cracked as he pleaded.

"What is Doktor hiding?" Heavy asked, "It cannot be so bad." He pulled down Medic's sleeve in a gentle and slow movement; whatever hid under it was something his companion desperately wanted to hide. It stirred his curiosity; he had to know why.

Heavy's lips formed a solid line as he investigated the forearm he held hostage. Deep bruises dotted the landscape of his flesh, the inevitable result of the daily shots Medic took - regardless of how much care he took to avoid getting them. "What are these?" He asked as he continued scrutinizing the German's flesh more closely.

"They're bruises from our battle earl-"

"If bruises came from battles," Heavy interrupted harshly. "They would be gone from respawn. I know you were last one through system today. But they are still here!" His eyebrows furrowed and his voice roared with firmness and rage, "Do not lie to me. What are these from? What have you been doing?"

Medic recoiled from the boom of Heavy's voice, wincing in fear as if the words had physically struck him like a fist. The struggle to pull his wrist from the Russian's grasp increased alongside his panic. After a few seconds, his fight stopped altogether and he hung his head in shame. His shoulders began to shake and it took all of his remaining strength to choke back a sob.

The anger painted across Heavy's face softened the instant Medic made his pain evident. His strong hand surrendered the doctor's wrist and watched it fall limply to his side. Heavy's voice was soft now, almost pleading. "Doktor, I am sorry. I did not mean to scare you. Can you forgive me?" The Russian placed his hand gently under his companion's chin and eased their eyes to meet again. Shimmering tears rolled down Medic's face, and Heavy felt his heart sink in his chest. He gently placed his hands on the German's shoulders; he could feel the smaller man trembling. "Medic…," a hand cupped the doctor's cheek as his thumb wiped away the tears. "You do not need to cry. I am sorry. Should not have raised voice at you." He drew the smaller man closer and wrapped his arms around his torso in a hug. Medic gratefully buried his face against Heavy's shoulder and clumsily threw his arms around his neck, if only to have some way to remain upright if his legs decided to fail him.

"Shhh…. It is okay, Doktor. I care; I only want to know what is happening. I did not want to be mean." Heavy spoke gently as he squeezed his friend to offer comfort. "It will be okay."

Medic sniffed and melted into the embrace. It had been eons since he last felt as though someone genuinely cared for him. It felt so natural that Heavy, whom he fondly considered to be his closest friend, be the one to comfort him now.

They stood like that in silence for a long time before Heavy spoke again. "Will you tell me what bruises are really from?" His voice was compassionate now, calm and soft. He chose his words carefully to avoid making Medic withdraw from answering.

"It's experiments for the new medigun formula?" Medic's words came out in a slow mutter, weighed down by their falsehood. The statement escaped as a question, betraying all intentions he originally had to continue to lie his way out of the situation. They were half-hearted intentions from the beginning, though. He understood that it was time someone caught him in the web of lies he spun. He needed someone to be aware of what he was doing to himself if he ever hoped to stop. "It's from injecting morphine," Medic choked out the honest words. He saw the confusion in Heavy's eyes and explained, "It's a painkiller that's supposed to be used to manage pain after surgeries. Those bruises you see are injection sites."

"I thought we did not get that?"

"Oh come on now, I'm sure you and the others have all seen the boxes come from the supply train. It has to be going somewhere…"

"So you've been using instead of…" Everything began to click into place, "And I thought that Doktor just liked to see teammates in pain…"

"Nein… not at all… but…" his voice trailed off as he stared at the wall to his left.

"Why is Doktor taking enough to cover arms in bruises?"

Medic stared at the ground, his voice confined by shame. Finally, he looked up at Heavy; the pain and despair in his eyes returned as tears began to fall down his cheeks a second time. "It's because I am in tremendous pain, and morphine is the only thing that keeps it away. I cannot help it."

"Is it pain from the battles with RED?" Heavy asked.

"Nein. It isn't physical. The pain comes from battles I fought in decades ago…" he left the sentence without a definitive ending.

"What do you mean?" Medic retreated, burying his face in Heavy's shoulder. He shook his head against his friend's flesh, a simple gesture to state that the topic was not open for discussion.

Heavy took the hint and began to work the pads of his fingers against the doctor's back in hopes to soothe his nerves. A long moment of silence passed before he asked gently, "Can you maybe tell me why you started?" Medic shook his head weakly against his friend's chest in stubborn refusal.

Eventually, he spoke into Heavy's shoulder, "I am weak. That is why I started taking morphine again."

"Is not true. But what you mean by 'again'?" There was no answer. "Is to keep nightmares of Great War away…" Heavy's voice was so gentle and understanding now. He felt a nod against his chest and said softly, "There are better ways to keep nightmares away, Doktor. You do not need to do this. Is not necessary. I will help you get better, Medic. I promise."

The corners of Medic's lips lifted a minute degree, "That is considerate of you, mein friend…but I am not worth saving. I'm nothing but a slave to this addiction now. I am not worth the effort. You shouldn't waste your time trying to save such a foolish old man." The tiny smile he wore lingered though his tone was solemn. His gaze drifted up to meet Heavy's and he could see hurt and anger in them.

"Is not true," Heavy said sternly as he moved his enormous hands to Medic's shoulders. He bent forward slightly to gaze into the German's eyes as he made his point. "You are worth it. You are worth all efforts. Doktor deserves to be free." Medic bit his lip hard to keep another sob from escaping.

"Will you keep this from the others?" He asked hopefully, his chin rested on Heavy's shoulder now; the tears had long since ceased.

Heavy hesitated, "Do not worry, I will. But only if you stop taking morphine."

Medic looked at him with pleading eyes, "but that's a promise I simply cannot keep."

"Then how do you expect me to keep secret?" Heavy asked. "I think others should know. You might need more help than what I can offer alone. They will want to help too, I am sure." He stared intently into his companion's eyes, "Please. Let us help you."

Medic captured his bottom lip between his teeth in apprehension; he gazed at the Russian before finally caving in and saying through a shaken voice, "…do not let them shame me… I am mortified enough as it is."

"You won't be shamed," Heavy assured him. "I will make sure. I am certain others would want to help; is least we can do when you help us so much."

"But…I am not worth saving. I cannot stop. I am not worth your time."

"But you are," Heavy said firmly; he took Medic's hands in his own and looked at the elder man with nothing but kindness. Medic made every effort he could to avoid blushing. "You are most important part of team; you take care of us. Would it be so bad if maybe we cared for Doktor, just once?" The Russian became frustrated again when he saw the disbelief in his companion's eyes. How could he distrust people so much that he believed other people lacked the decency to care about him?

"When I ask you about what Scout said…were you lying?" The silence spoke more than enough for Medic. His lips returned to a flat, angry line. He let go of the doctor's hands and inadvertently raised his voice again, "Were you sent to respawn last night because of drugs? You need them so bad you die? Imagine if respawn had not been there! You would be dead! Is that what you want?" He took in a deep breath and began to walk toward the infirmary door, "I am sorry, Doktor. I need moment to think."

"Heavy, I-… wait." Medic's voice caught in his throat when Heavy turned to face him again, waiting patiently for what he was going to say. When he found his voice again, the words had changed their course and he said dejectedly, "never mind…"

"I will be back later. Just need moment, Doktor." With that, the Russian took his leave, well aware of Medic's eyes upon his back.

Medic stood, locked in place by shock and malaise as he watched the infirmary doors swing shut behind the Russian. "Please stay…" he whispered the words to no one. He did not want to believe that someone had found out his secret. He did not want to face the rest of the team; he did not want to admit his vulnerability, to announce that he was just as human as the rest of them.

What if he permanently alienated the closest friend he had on the team?

"He must hate me…" Medic muttered miserably to himself; the thought was unbearable. It meant the world to him that someone had noticed his distress, but did it have to be like this? He felt the walls caving in around him, and he became ever more desperate to escape. Medic took slow steps toward the cabinets in the infirmary; after only two, his legs collapsed from beneath him, and he sank carelessly to his knees in the middle of the room. He knew he couldn't control his addiction entirely on his own. Many years of self-reliance had left him proud and unwilling to ask for help. So he stared at the doors through which Heavy had left, wondering why he wasn't able to say the words he needed to express that he needed help; had he forgotten how to do such a simple task? He should have asked Heavy to stay; at least it would have stopped him from taking more morphine. But there was nothing. Medic had nothing; he distanced his closest friend with his addiction, and he could only pray it was not permanent.

He tended relentlessly to the rest of the team but no one stopped to see if he was faring well – until now. In the many months he had spent as a mercenary for BLU, he had never felt so vulnerable. Never on the battlefield had he felt so exposed, not even when the enemy spy decided to stalk him throughout the day.

The world felt so far away as he came crashing back to earth, stripped entirely of his feigned superiority. In all reality, vulnerable was all he had ever been; evading his problems became his forte. He couldn't remember a time he faced his problems, and now was no exception. Medic couldn't conceive of facing Heavy again after this ordeal. He did not want to face the possibility that their friendship was over. He had nothing; he was nothing. And he wanted to disappear.

Morphine was the only thing that made any sense, a shining beacon in a world that suddenly became so bleak. Ultimately, taking another dose was exactly what Medic found himself doing. As he filled a syringe with morphine, he knew that he was approaching the limits of tolerance; any amount needed to keep the anxiety and nightmares away would be dangerously close to a lethal dose. It was risk he was willing to take; after all, there was the respawn system to catch him if he did fall. At least he could escape from this world for a little while with a temporary death. His eyes narrowed at the needle as he pulled the plunger up some more, filling the chamber full of the drug. Escape was what he needed.

His shaking hands set the apparatus down on his desk as he sat in thought. It was impossible to avoid respawn without actually shutting the system down; that wasn't an option. Medic cared too much for his teammates; they killed each other often, and he did not want any of them to die permanently.

How ironic. Even with a lethal dose of morphine in hand, he still put the others before himself. With any luck, he would stay dead for a while; if he was lucky he would overload respawn with his presence, and it would fail.

Without another thought, he lined up the shot and injected every ounce of morphine into his system.

Heavy left the infirmary with a heart as leaden as his footsteps. He never expected to face this dilemma today; what began as a simple suspicion turned into a dreadful situation he never imagined he would have to deal with - not even in his darkest nightmares. A loud sigh escaped his lips as he walked along the quiet hallways of the fort. The cool summer air forced its way through the windowpanes, masking the sour musk of the building with damp humidity. He took a place at a large open window and glanced at the span of moonlit sand just out of reach. This hallway offered enough solitude; the others were too busy drinking and playing cards to bother him.

The empty stretch of sand spanned like infinity toward the horizon until the vulgar sight of the enemy RED base obstructed it. In other directions, the sands met distant oases and mountain ranges. It would be beautiful to go see the sights one day, if only they could let the fort go unguarded. It was just another thing that was never to be. His blue eyes stared up at the moon in sorrow as he leaned on the windowpane.

His heart felt like lead in his chest; its beating was sluggish and forceful. It ached so much for his friend. _I only wish I had known…You could have told me sooner. I would have helped you. Really. I do not like seeing you like this. You deserve so much more than the world has given you…_ Heavy felt his stomach sink in guilt. He had no right to consider himself close to Medic at all if he could not have figured out the morphine addiction on his own.

How did he manage to remain oblivious to Medic's addiction for so long? How could such a grim secret continually escape his attention? He felt as though he had failed Medic, but the entire team had failed him in his darkest hours. The German was too proud to admit he needed help; but how did eight men manage to remain oblivious for so long?

The Doctor took care of everyone on the team, no matter how late at the night, no matter what the situation. Incredibly, he did everything without ever complaining. It was only fair that the rest of the team return the favor when they could.

Heavy pondered about how long Medic had been using morphine; it must have been months now. But the man hid it so well… he functioned normally under its influence every day. How many lonely nights did it take to force Medic into the addiction? How often did he fight off the demons of his past alone? He knew how difficult it is to do such things alone. Dealing with his own past was always tremendously painful and exhausting; it was only natural that Medic would turn to something to help cope with the memories.

The night had begun full of hope; he had finally worked up the nerve to ask the good doctor if he would be interested in having more than just friendship. Weeks of finding the nerve and days of figuring out how to ask, and it only took one small moment to knock him off guard and take his courage with it.

What if it was just the sort of therapy Medic needed? The man needed a new way to cope with his past and the nightmares that came with it. After all, he would need a replacement for morphine. It could be good for him, for both of them. Medic needed his help.

As soon as the thoughts passed through his mind, he made his way once more to the infirmary. He would not fail the doctor a second time.

Heavy entered the infirmary with a broad grin. When he entered, the doctor was sleeping; slumped over with his cheek resting on the only clean spot he had on his desk. The Russian's smile grew softer as he approached his comrade. Poor Medic always ended up sleeping at his desk; the least he could do was carry him to bed. The smile melted off Heavy's face and was replaced by a slack-jawed gape of shock as he realized that the color had completely drained from the German's face. "Oh my god."

He grabbed hold of Medic's hand; the fingers felt so cold in his. The German's face looked like it came from a corpse, lifeless and colorless; his lips had turned blue. His eyes were half-open, staring without seeing. Shaking fingers made their way to his throat to check for a pulse, and Heavy's heart fell to the floor when he confirmed his instincts; no blood was flowing.

Heavy felt the bridge of his nose burn and tingle as tears started to fill his eyes. Crying over his friend was pointless; it was only a matter of time before the German's body was captured by their respawn system. His hand clenched around that of his friend, expressing pain that came from a direct blow to his heart. "Why didn't you tell me sooner? I could have helped. I might have saved you from this."

Heavy gazed at his friend's dead face and felt the pain pulse through his veins in tune with his heart. "I am so sorry, Medic. If I only had known how bad this is, I would never left you alone. I will not make mistake again." He fell silent for a moment, holding the doctor's rigid body with his large hands. His index finger traced shapes along the back of the German's hand. "Poor Medic… You take care of us every day; heal us every time we cry for help. Yet, not one of us could help you in time to prevent this… I am so sorry…we've all failed you."

He sighed deeply and whispered, "Ya tebya lyublyu…" the words were somber as he pressed his lips to Medic's forehead.

The Russian pulled away abruptly as his friend's corpse began to shimmer in layers of light before it disappeared, taken by the base's respawn system. Thank god it was still running at this time of night. Heavy stayed locked in his position for several minutes, lost in thought. Eventually, he rose to his feet and looked around the empty infirmary. After some debate, he decided against going to Medic's side once he got through the respawn system; the German would not appreciate having a witness to his ordeal. Heavy's lips formed a solid line as he wondered what next needed to happen to rectify this situation.

"Medic," he muttered solemnly to the empty room, "If your addiction is so bad that you kill yourself with it, I cannot keep secret to self." He paused for a moment and looked at Medic's most beloved dove, Archimedes, who tilted his head in confusion under the man's gaze. "I am only one man. And you need more help than what I can give." With a loud sigh, the Russian headed left through the infirmary's double doors, wondering how he could bring up this issue to his teammates.


End file.
